


Circe

by Illyrias_Acolyte



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illyrias_Acolyte/pseuds/Illyrias_Acolyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circe was not born a witch. She was a woman, just like any other. It was the gods that turned her into a monster. Some violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/gifts).



From her vantage point on the rock of Sicily, above the wine-dark sea, Circe extended her hand over the churning waters full of the dead. Her voice cut like a sword above the din and death below as she cried out to the heavens. 

“Melpomene!” A single word broke from her lips like the mares of Diomedes from their stables, and even the stormy weather itself calmed to hear her. “Muse of Tragedy! I invoke you now! You, who have watched my life unfold, tell it truly! Let the world know, before my exile, that the tragedy of Circe of Colchis was the doing of the gods!” Whether Melpomene heard, Circe never learned, for she raised her other hand into the air with purpose, and the acrid smoke with which she had become so familiar began to envelope her, delivering her from the sinful world of men and into sweet exile.


	2. Chapter 2

Many years prior, Circe flipped through her book with the speed of Atalanta, searching desperately for the proper spell. Finally, after two hundred pages turned, she found the correct page: a beginner’s introduction to shapeshifting. She looked up from the dusty tome to the chicken sitting directly in front of her. To become the greatest sorcerer in the Grecian Isles, she would first have to master basic spell-casting. 

She concentrated as deeply as she could manage, picturing the feathers on the chicken melting away, the beak hardening further, and the beast shrinking down to the size of a pebble, all the while channelling her will through the fingertips pointed at the creature. The chicken clucked, nonplussed, and strutted out of the circle. For the thirtieth time, Circe stood, picked up the chicken, and plopped it back in its original spot. 

“You’ve been trying that spell all morning, Circe,” came a voice from the doorway. “Why don’t you give yourself a break?” Circe’s concentration broke as she swiveled her head to the woman behind her. The stocky frame and dark, damp curls could only have belonged to Princess Pasiphaë. Her friend’s intelligent brown eyes glittered as Circe stood, letting the chicken wander out of the circle for the thirty-first time. 

“Agamede was twice the sorceress I am at half my age,” Circe fumed. “She was healing men and soothing conquered nations long before she saw her twentieth year.” 

“She was also more than likely not a real person,” the princess replied. “Or her abilities were exaggerated beyond reason. Mark my words, the historical character was not half the woman that the stories claim.” 

“Either way,” Circe huffed, turning her back to her friend. “I wish the chicken had transformed.” The beast was currently pecking at the cobblestones, looking for spilled seed. 

“You must not turn your back to your princess, common girl,” Pasiphaë chided with a note of humor in her voice. “I suggest you fall to your knees to beg for forgiveness.” 

“It would be quite a change for you to tell someone else to fall to their knees, instead of the other way around,” Circe teased, and Pasiphaë opened her mouth in an expression of mock alarm. “What, have I hurt your delicate Artemesian sensibilities?” 

“I have respect for the goddess of the hunt,” Pasiphaë began. “But my ways are not her ways. I am a patron of Aphrodite and Eros, and a lover of all things physical and beautiful.” The two girls giggled and Circe closed her grimoire. 

“This book is getting me nowhere,” she sighed as the pages clunked shut. 

“That’s because you’re reading it in Greek,” Pasiphaë said. “Everyone knows that the Persian wizards are the ones who invented magic. Try reading it in their words, saying it in their tongue. Perhaps you’ll have more luck that way. Or you could try it in the tongue of Latium. I hear there’s power in that language.” 

“I can barely make out the words in Greek, Pasiphaë,” Circe said with a frown. “My father is not king. I did not have the benefits of education that were afforded to you.” 

“A detail that will no doubt only increase the joy of your success when Calliope pens your heroic story,” Pasiphaë reassured her. “One day, Circe, you will be the most famous sorcerer in all of Greece. Today, however, your friend and princess requests your help. Prince Minos is coming to visit, and he is young, handsome, and of marriageable age. His power and influence would do great things for me and my family, and especially my kingdom. They say he is the grandson of the Great King Minos himself, the most benevolent king Crete has ever known. Can you imagine what Colchis could do with that kind of power, that kind of influence?”

“Indeed, it would be a great boon for all of Colchis,” Circe agreed. “What do you know of him as a person?” 

“I know he is young and handsome, and there my knowledge ends,” Pasiphaë admitted sheepishly. “But that is why I plan to ingratiate myself to the Prince and his court while they are here in my land.” 

“Will Hera favor you with a husband tonight?” Circe asked. The corner of her mouth turned up in a grin. 

“Goddesses no,” Pasiphaë barked. “I hope not, not tonight. I still have much to learn before I become hostess and mother to an entire nation. But there are first steps in every relationship, and this will simply have to be one of ours.” 

“Simply so,” Circe said with a nod. “This will have to serve.” 

“Come, we must get ourselves ready,” Pasiphaë said. “The Cretan royal family will be here later tonight, and we still have much preparation to do before then.” She extended a hand to her friend, and Circe shook her head. 

“I have no desire to go,” Circe replied. 

“It’s nearly time to eat,” Pasiphaë reminded her. “And you look like you haven’t all day. Let the chicken be and come have some food.” 

“To meet Prince Minos, I mean,” Circe said. “I have no desire to play the game that you and your family play, meeting other royals and tricking them into doing your bidding. I’ve no talent for it.”

“King Lycastus has a fantastic court magician,” Pasiphaë said. “Alexandrius is known throughout the kingdoms for his magical prowess. They say he has worked for Lycastrus’ family since before even the days of the Great King Minos.” Circe perked up at this comment. She had heard stories of the Olive Wizard - the sobriquet that Alexandrius had earned while studying in Persia for his Grecian skin and Athenian origin- dating as far back as Pasiphaë claimed. It was well known that he had banished Aello and her flock of steel-winged harpies from Calydon by tricking their leader into an enchanted cage which turned her into a harmless songbird, and stories of his victories over the maenads plaguing Thebes were nearly as famous. 

“I will consider making an appearance,” Circe said, and Pasiphaë smiled knowingly. Both girls knew that the princess had already enticed her friend into attending.

“So I’ll see you there tonight,” Pasiphaë said, and Circe nodded. “Wonderful. I shall expect you just after sundown.”


	3. Chapter 3

Night came quickly, and Circe soon found herself on the steps of Aegeus’ palace dressed in her cleanest toga. The creamy silk was offset by a sash colored a bright shock of purple, and she had tamed her wild chestnut hair into a neat bun on the top of her head. The grand staircase was decorated with an even grander crop of guests. The people around her were dressed in similar but finer garb, and Circe could make out sashes of seafoam green and deep blue and vibrant reds decked on togas in many shades of white. Circe swallowed the anxious welt in the back of her throat and walked up the stairs. 

The lanterns affixed to the spiraling pillars were lit all up the walkway, and Circe could see the marble clearly in the firelight. Silks and banners had been draped between the marble columns, and the guests chatted in a lively manner over goblets of wine and plates of olive-soaked bread. A large boar lay in the middle of the table, stuffed and seasoned, no doubt, and it was accompanied by imported cheeses, grapes, and oranges, giving the hors d'oeuvres table a colorful presence. Thankful for something with which to distract herself, Circe made her way to the food, past the brightly decorated guests, and plucked a grape. 

“They are a favorite treat of mine as well.” The voice startled her, and she turned on her heel to face the source of the voice for the second time that day. This time, the voice belonged to a tall, thin man with wild hair and a crooked back. In his right hand, he held a held an oaken walking staff - Circe was briefly reminded of the sphinx’s riddle seeing this man walk on three legs at night - and a goblet in the other. Though his body was old, his eyes were young and fierce, and they watched her carefully. 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Circe said. She bowed her head before the old man. “I am Circe the Oceanborn, daughter of the Sun God and Perse.” 

“Impressive lineage,” the old man marveled. “It’s not every day that one meets the daughter of a god.” Circe bowed her head again, not revealing her lie. 

“I am also a friend of the Princess Pasiphaë,” she informed him. “The princess invited me personally. I hope to find her shortly, but before that, I required a little nourishment. I do not do well at parties. She was to introduce me to King Lycastus’ wizard.” 

“Just so,” said the old man. “I am Alexandrius, the Olive Wizard. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.” Circe’s eyes went wide. She had, of course, never seen the man before, but yet she felt as though she should recognize him regardless. She fell over herself apologizing, not getting out more than a few recognizable words, but the aged wizard merely laughed. “You’re eager. That is a good thing, and a favorable quality of the young. I remember when I was such a youth. That was a long time ago.” 

“But you are wise now, and powerful,” Circe pointed out. “Those are far more important than youth and beauty, aren’t they?” 

“Just so,” he said again. “It’s good to see a young person who appreciates the wisdom of age. So many of your contemporaries are content to see me as a withered old husk of a man, not worth listening to.” 

“But you’re the most famous sorcerer in the Grecian Isles,” Circe said. “There isn’t a man, woman, or child alive who hasn’t heard of you.” 

“That has not always been the case, nor will it be true forever,” he said, leaning on his cane. He took a long sip from his wine goblet before continuing. “Time is a waterfall, child; once the water cascades down the hill, it is gone forever.” 

“You are very wise,” Circe said with a deferential bow. 

“Thank you, young student,” Alexandrius said. Circe rose, and as she righted herself, she caught a glimpse of the noble King Lycastus and his radiant queen Ida entering. Behind them stood a chiseled statue of a man, decked in wine-colored silks and trappings. He wore a wreath of golden laurels on his mop of jet-black hair, and his cunning eyes cut through the crowd before they focused on Circe. Her heart skipped a beat as the attractive prince of Crete favored her with the slightest of smiles, and she returned the gesture. 

“I see you are admiring the young heir to the Cretan throne,” Alexandrius observed. 

“Oh, I apologize, Olive Wizard,” Circe said with another bow. “I did not mean to offend. I only noticed him entering.” 

“Many other women did as well, I suspect,” Alexandrius said with a chuckle. “He is a fetching lad, and will make some lucky princess a very happy wife. He will be King of Crete when his father dies.”

“A morbid thought,” Circe mused. 

“Perhaps,” the Olive Wizard replied. “But also full of promise. The young Prince Minos will be a rich and powerful man when he is king.” 

“True enough,” Circe agreed. “Olive Wizard, I wondered if you would allow me a question.”

“Speak, child.”

“I’ve been reading up on the uses of the poppy plant,” Circe said. “And I don’t understand why it has to be ingested whole. Could it not be ground up and sprinkled in soup or porridge? That would help patients ingest it and cut down on the bitter taste.” 

“An excellent question,” Alexandrius said. “Poppy is at its most effective when it is whole. Grinding it releases the magic from the gods that gives it its soothing properties. It must be ingested as a single entity.” 

“Then if the soothing power comes from the leaves, why not pluck them one at a time and place them on food? That way, the petals will remain intact, the magic will remain in the plant, and it will be easier to eat.” 

“Your question is a good one, but the solution to it is not viable,” Alexandrius said with a wave of his hand. “The poppy is at its most effective when completely whole, and when ingested alone. As the gods have given it to us, so it must remain.” 

“But we mix up other plants and grind them together to create salves and unctions,” Circe said. “We mix sage with the yellow flowers that ward off persistent sadness, and they remain as strong as ever. Why is this different?” 

“Because poppy leaves are different,” Alexandrius said with finality. “This is not the way they work. I understand your thoughts, but this is simply not the way things are done. Many learned men have tested the use of plants long before you and I were born, and they have determined the rules.

She caught Pasiphaë out of the corner of her eye, and her friend waved. “Please excuse me, Olive Wizard. Though I would very much like to speak with you again, I must take this opportunity to have words with Princess Pasiphaë and thank her for her invitation.” Circe dipped into an awkward curtsey and Alexandrius replied with a nod of his head, and the young witch bounded into the crowd after her friend. 

“I saw you talking to the court mage of King Lycastus himself!” Pasiphaë took no pains to hide her wide smile. The deep blue fabrics she wore draped about her dark red chiton offset the brown in her eyes. 

“He was surprisingly friendly,” Circe said, not troubling to hide her own excitement either. “We haven’t had the opportunity to discuss much magic yet, but I’m planning to find him again. I hope I don’t talk his ear off.” 

“I’m sure he will be very interested to discuss the finer points of sorcery with you,” Pasiphaë assured her, and Circe nodded. “King Lycastus will not need him at this time, and he’ll be free to socialize with you. You may even get to learn something.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Circe said. “I owe you one,”

“You owe me several,” Pasiphaë said with a smile. “Now I want for you to enjoy yourself. You should find Alexandrius and bore him until he can no longer stand. I wish to hear every minute detail at the end of the night, sister. Tell me everything.” 

“I shall,” Circe promised. “I shall bore you as well after the party is finished.” Pasiphaë flashed a smile and waved to her friend before disappearing back into the crowd. A servant came by and offered her an amphora full of wine before she managed to make it back to Alexandrius, King Minos’ booming voice filled the room. 

“My daughter, Princess Pasiphaë, is the most beautiful and intelligent woman I have ever met,” began her father. Pasiphaë was beautiful. She was short for her age, but she would likely grow into it, and she was of a weight that bespoke nobility. “She is kind, and helpful, and will make a fine queen. This is why my friend King Lycastus and I have decided that she and his son would make a fine couple.” 

Circe’s jaw hung open. Pasiphaë would be moving to Crete? The smiling princess was at his side at once, waving to her subjects, and looking more radiant than ever. Prince Minos took his place next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. The couple stood there, dressed in royal blues, and looked the very picture of a king and queen. 

“I am honored to be considered for marriage by the crown prince of Crete,” Pasiphaë said, her voice ringing clear across the villa. “I will be sorry to leave my home in Colchis, but I will use my marriage to create and preserve peace between our two cities. I will carry myself with the bearing that a Queen deserves, and will treat my subjects as if they were family. A Queen is a mother, and to Crete, that is what I intend to be.” There was an explosion of applause, and Pasiphaë and her new husband disappeared into the crowd before Circe had a chance to speak with her friend. 

“Quite the stroke of luck for the princess, is it not?” Circe whirled around, faced with the Olive Wizard once more. “Your friend will have good fortune in the city of the Good King Minos and his get. Prince Minos will make a good king, and Pasiphaë will make him a good wife.”

“She is a kind and intelligent woman and will make a wonderful Queen,” Circe agreed. “I’ve known her all my life, and she’s been nothing but benevolent and fair.” 

“Quite so,” Alexandrius said as his wizened hand stroked his wispy beard. Circe waited while he thought. “Have you any family here, child?” 

“My parents are Helios the Sun God and his paramour,” Circe repeated. “They haven’t any time to raise their children, since their godly duties take up all their time. I haven’t any relatives in the area. They are all up on Olympus.” Circe grinned, and Alexandrius nodded. 

“Quite so,” he said again. “I was wondering if you would like to take a trip.” 

“A trip?” Circe asked, bewildered. 

“You have a natural curiosity, child,” he said. “I would see it nurtured if I can, and so I have a proposition for you.”

“What proposition is that?” 

“You will come to Athens,” Alexandrius said. “You will study at the temple of Hecate, and you will perfect your craft.” Circe’s face lit up. 

“The temple of Hecate?” Circe repeated. “Would I be able to study with the priestesses there?” 

“Therein would lie the idea,” he said. “You are a talent, I believe, and I would not see that talent go to waste. I have some pull there, though not a great deal, but you will be welcomed there. You would have to be available to leave immediately.”

“Of course!” Circe exploded. She cleared her throat and subdued her emotions. “I mean, thank you for this opportunity. I shall treasure it, and make the most out of your generous offer.” 

“I have no doubt that you will,” Alexandrius said with a smile. “I have no doubt that Hecate will make great use of you.” Alexandrius bowed and excused himself, but Circe paid little attention to his exit. She was to study with the priestesses of Hecate, the most knowledgeable students of magic in the Grecian Isles. She would have many things to tell Pasiphaë tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

Circe sat in the center of her summoning circle and gathered all her will to her. She concentrated hard on the chicken set among the stones, pictured it shrinking in size, hardening into a tiny pebble, and before her eyes, the transformation took place. She didn’t even have to hold her hands out to channel her will. She simply had to think of the chicken becoming a pebble, and it was so. 

The old crone nodded deferentially, leaning over Circe’s shoulder. Circe could not see her teacher, but she knew the old woman was smiling. Kyrene had been teaching her for months, and Circe had been greedily gobbling the lessons Hecate’s servant had been giving her. 

“It is good,” she allowed. “You have mastered a very simple expression of a very difficult form of shapeshifting, living to non-living. This is not something that many scholars of sorcery can accomplish. You have a gift, child.” Circe brightened. With another glance towards the pebble, Circe imagined it sprouting legs, wings, a beak, and it was so. 

“It’s a shame it only works in one direction,” Circe lamented, gazing at the still form of the chicken lying before her. It’s chest remained stationary, and Circe waved her hand once more, turning the animal back into a rock. 

“The fundamental essence of a thing cannot be reversed, child,” Kyrene cautioned. Flecks of spit moistened Circe’s shoulders as the old crone spoke, but Circe paid it no mind. “You can change a man to a pig, but once he is transformed, his body will be forever tainted with the memory of it. He will never truly be able to change back.”

Circe heightened her focus on the dead chicken and concentrated as hard as she knew how. She stared at the lifeless corpse and pictured it leaping up, darting around the room. She pictured it clucking, and pecking at the marble floors, and squawking at her as she tried to pick it up and place it in the transformation circle. 

“It is no use, child,” she said. “You cannot give life. Only the gods can do that. You have no power over Galatea, and you have less power over this poor creature.” 

“But how do I learn how to reverse it?” 

“Death?” Kyrene spat. “You are not a god, Circe. You are a mortal, and your powers will be bound by such.” 

“I will learn how,” Circe said, determination in her unwavering voice. “I will find a way to defeat death.” 

“That subject is taboo, Circe,” Kyrene cautioned. “You will speak of it no longer. Now we must turn to the subject of your studies once more. I fear I have bad news.” Circe braced herself. 

“You have reached the limits of what I can teach you for now,” Kyrene went on. “I have brought your natural magical talent to the fore, but it is up to you to cultivate it. You must seek out Hecate and gain her favor. In order to do this, go to the crossroads and wait. There, you will either be given the blessing of Hecate, or you will not be. Kronos only will tell what you will find, but whatever it is, you shall return and present it to me.” 

“And this will prove that Hecate favors me?” 

“It will prove one way or the other,” Kyrene agreed. “Now off with you.” Circe left the temple, her robes swishing around her feet as she walked. Hours later, she was out of town, kneeling at a desolate crossroads near an abandoned farm. Her sandals had worn down almost to the soles of her feet, and her legs ached with the effort of the day’s walk. She had chosen this particular crossroad for no reason clear to her, as though Hecate herself had drawn her out there. 

Circe was leaned up against a yew tree, taking shelter under the leave and among the gnarled roots. She knelt in the soft dirt with her feet next to a sizable boulder and dug her fingers into Gaia’s flesh. The yew leaves fell down on her head, brushing against her skin like a lover's kiss. Circe closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath, reveling in Gaia’s domain. While her eyes were closed, she felt a breeze blow across her skin. 

She opened her eyes and stared into the darkening sky, taking in the pinks and oranges and reds of the setting sun as she sat beneath the yew tree. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a large dog loping towards her. It’s large, dark eyes and friendly pace made Circe feel at ease rather than terrified. It was an animal of tremendous size, easily the size of a horse, and it gently padded up to her and licked her face.

“He is one of Cerberus’ offspring.” The voice startled Circe, and she jumped. Now on her feet, Circe left the shade of the yew tree and turned around. She was faced with a tall, dark-skinned woman with dark hair and expressive dark eyes. Her face was long and set with a sharp, aquiline nose. Her elegant lips curled up in a smile. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am the one who will grant you the power you have so long sought,” the elegant woman said. “I am the one to show you how wonderful you can be.” She reached her hand up towards the tree and curled her long fingers over one of the branches, and it bent towards her without her touching it. The branch stretched towards the ground, growing longer than was possible, and she grasped the branch and it curled into a staff about the size of her arm. She handed it over to Circe. 

“What is it?” Circe asked. The large animal slunk over to the woman and sat at her feet. She scratched it behind its ears and it growled happily. 

“It’s yours,” said the woman with an enigmatic lilt in her voice. “It is the sacred branch from the yew tree, and if you are seeking something to focus your latent magical powers, there is nothing better. You should make a sacrifice to the goddess of magic when you return to your city.” She pushed her fingers through Circe’s hair and cupped her face in those long, elegant fingers. 

“Thank you,” Circe said, mesmerized. “How can I repay you?” 

“Do good work in the service of Hecate,” she replied. “That’s all I ask. Glorify the name of the goddess of the crossroads in all you do, and the power will serve you well. You will do just that, I am sure.” Circe nodded reverentially, and took the wand in both hands. She focused on the rock against which she had been leaning and swung the wand towards it. It jumped up, a live chicken, and ran towards her. She smiled until the large dog clamped its jaws around the chicken’s neck, and it died instantly. 

“This is incredible,” Circe breathed. “Thank you.” 

“It is my pleasure,” the woman said. “I would do nothing less for a daughter of Helios.” Before Circe could say anything, the woman and her dog were gone, the tree was back to the way it had been before she had appeared, and Circe was alone with her new toy. She held it aloft triumphantly, and smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

Upon her return to Athens, Circe found Kyrene waiting at the temple for her. Her wizened mouth was curled into a smile, and behind her stood none other than Circe’s old friend, Princess Pasiphaë. Her new position and wealth had made her even more regal, a feat which Circe didn’t think was possible. 

“Circe, how could you?” Pasiphaë said, her brows furrowed in confusion. “How could you follow this dark goddess?” 

“Hecate is the goddess of magic,” Circe said. “I spoke to the Olive Wizard on your suggestion.” 

“He is a devout follower of Zeus, and a good man,” Pasiphaë said. “But the followers of Hecate are dark sisters of evil. They are in league with monsters.” 

“No more than any of the other gods,” Kyrene assured her. “Each god has his own horrors with which he consorts, Hecate simply is more honest about it.” 

“Pasiphaë, we have been as close as sisters since we were girls,” Circe continued. “You have no reason to believe that I would ever conscience such abhorrent behavior.” 

“I have no sister,” Pasiphaë spat. “You have accepted the aid of the Dark Goddess Hecate. I’ve heard the stories: the midnight sacrifices of infants to gain boons, the robbing of possessions and even the bodies of the dead, the extraction of men’s genitals… How could you Circe? I thought you were a good woman. I thought we were sisters!” 

“Where did you hear all that?” Circe asked in disbelief.

“Everyone knows that the followers of Hecate are child-killers,” Pasiphaë said. “And I have no interest in socializing with child-killers.” 

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Circe said in disbelief. “No children, no women, no men, no animals. I just went into the woods and got a staff.” 

“Minos said that you’d try to deny it,” Pasiphaë said. She thrust her nose in the air. Circe could see tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. “He said it’s as much as I could expect from a bastard peasant girl.” Now Circe could feel tears in her own eyes. She and Pasiphaë had promised long ago to never bring up the subject of Circe’s true parentage, or lack thereof. 

“What’s come over you?” Circe asked. “I don’t recognize you since you moved to Crete.” 

“I’ve grown up, Circe,” Pasiphaë said. “I’m older and wiser. Minos has been surrounding me with advisers, trusted people, good people, people who worship the right gods.” 

“Did your advisors tell you that we do work with the poor and the sick?” Kyrene reminded her. “We are merely servants of our gods, just like anyone else. We only wish to serve them as best we can, just like any other servant of any other god.” 

“I do not socialize with those who follow the Cthonic gods,” Pasiphaë said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest. “The gods of death deserve no worshipers, and Hecate is the worst of them all. At least Hades is the god of natural death. Hecate’s powers are unnatural, and she is the god of unnatural things. If you choose to abandon her powers, you may contact me. Until then, I wish to hear no more from you.” Tears in her eyes, Pasiphaë strode past her former friend and away from the temple of Hecate.

“Wait!” Circe cried, but Pasiphaë did not. “Come back! Pasiphaë!” But Circe’s wails did not move the Princess, and Circe felt tears well up in her own eyes. “Very well! Leave! Lay with the bulls for all I care! I hope you rot!” Even then, Princess Pasiphaë did not stop.

Kyrene hobbled over to Circe and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Circe was only vaguely aware of the pressure on her shoulder as she watched the Queen of Crete exit with unparalleled grace. 

“This is the way of things sometimes, child,” Kyrene assured her. “Sometimes friendships are broken, sometimes out of things we know nothing of. This is the way of things sometimes. Do not despair. You are in the sisterhood of Hecate now. We will be your sisters.” 

“Thank you, Kyrene,” Circe said wistfully. “It will take some getting used to, but I will survive without Queen Pasiphaë.” Kyrene removed her hand and went back into the temple, leaving Circe out alone. The wind blew through her hair as she stood outside the temple, watching after the Queen. Flashes of their childhood flooded her memory; the time they swam until dark, the time they stole food from the kitchens and blamed it on Pasiphaë’s older brother, and the time they fell asleep entangled in each other’s arms after a long night of storytelling… Circe sighed. She would dwell no more on that. The empty space in her heart would be additional space for her love of magic. She swallowed quickly, hardened her heart, and followed Kyrene into the temple.


	6. Chapter 6

Androgeus, the crown prince of Crete, was every inch his father’s son. Even at fifteen years old, he had Minos’ strong jaw, sharp nose, and high cheekbones. His dark hair was curly and tousled, and he stood tall and erect. When he appeared at the temple of Hecate, he was dressed in the royal blues of Crete, draped with a deep purple cloth across his shoulder, and Circe knelt in front of him, as was expected of her when a royal approaches. She paid no attention to the dirt that swelled up onto her black priestess robes as she knelt to show her respect. His four guards trailed behind him, looking for any sign of danger. 

"How can we help you, Prince Androgeous?" Circe asked as she rose to her feet.

“I have come to make an offering to the gods,” Prince Androgeus said. “And I wish to tour the temple of Hecate.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Kyrene said. The old woman had gotten even older in the twenty years since King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë had ascended to the throne, though she was still respected for her wisdom and power. 

“Hecate should be pleased to receive me,” he said. “One of the lesser gods, one who doesn’t even sit on Olympus, receiving a visit from the crown prince, and not a withered old hag? She should prostrate before me and kiss my sandals.” 

“It is not wise to blaspheme,” Kyrene warned. “Your Majesty would be wise to remember what happens when one disrespects the gods. Arachne did the same. You would not wish to share her fate, would you?” 

“Arachne directly threatened an Olympian,” Androgeus said. He made his way to the altar and began to run his fingers through the silver coins in her sacrificial bowl. “I have the protection of Poseidon, and if I incur the wrath of a minor goddess, he will protect me.” 

“Hecate has less power than the Olympians, it is true, but she has power of her own,” Kyrene reminded him. “Far more power than we mortals do. It is not wise to involve oneself in the affairs of the gods, except to worship them.” 

“I will worship gods who deserve it,” Androgeus said. He pulled a silver coin from the offering bowl and tossed it into the air before catching it. “A god who does not defend her servants is no god that deserves respect.” His hand shot across the altar and struck the bowl, scattering the silver across the floor in a shower of glittering metal. Kyrene cried out in alarm. 

“Prince Androgeus, you disrespect the gods!” Kyrene shouted. 

“I have no respect for Hecate,” Androgeus snarled. “Her ways are unnatural. If she is so powerful, let her strike me down. Let her show me her wrath if she is so powerful.” 

“You will stop disrespecting my patron goddess, Prince Androgeus,” Circe said authoritatively. “The gods are wise and all-seeing, and they will know your disrespect.” 

“You dare challenge me, priestess?” Androgeus roared. His soldiers raised their spears and began to advance on her. “I will see you drawn and quartered for that!” 

“Please, Prince Androgeus,” Kyrene began, but as she hobbled over to him to entreat his silence, he struck her across the face, his hand making a crack as it hit her. She fell backwards onto her head, which made a sickening thwack as it hit the marble floor. Androgeus stumbled backwards towards the exit as Kyrene's blood began to pool on the tiles, and his guards circled around him. 

One of the other priestesses cried out, and Circe advanced on Androgeus. A soldier put his spear to her chest, and Circe narrowed her eyes at the prince. 

“You killed her,” Circe said, fighting to keep her voice level. “She was an old woman, and you killed her.” 

“I am the prince of Crete,” Androgeus shrieked. “She was disrespecting me!” 

“You are a fool,” Circe said. “A pig. And that’s what you shall be.” Hecate raised her wand towards the prince. 

Androgeus shivered. His bones quivered and shrunk, his skin pinkened and stretched, fat grew on his stomach and arms. Before he could even react, within the space of seconds, he had becoming a pig, rutting around in the dirt outside the temple. The soldiers charged Circe, bearing their spears, and she flicked her wand at them, and they shrunk down and sprouted wool. Before long, they had become sheep, rushing out of the temple with the pig that was formerly a prince. 

“Circe, what have you done?” The priestess’s voice echoed in Circe’s head as she waved her wand once more at Kyrene. 

“I have avenged Kyrene,” she said. Kyrene’s body shifted and compressed, her brown skin turned coppery, and her rings turning into gems. The blood evaporated and thinned, turning into wine, and her body finished its transformed into a goblet. Circe picked the goblet up in her hands, turning it around in her hands. 

“King Minos will not be pleased.” The priestess moved to flank Circe.

“Let him be displeased,” Circe said. “I am not his plaything. If he wishes to war against Athens for my actions, then I will defeat him and stop the war. He will learn that Circe of Colchis is not a woman to be trifled with.”


End file.
